Second Chances: Supernatural
by The Penner
Summary: What if Michael was the one to pull Dean out of Hell? Dean isn't in a coma. He isn't brain dead. He isn't all the things they say he is. And when a messenger of the lord arrives to set him free he discovers that the world has changed a great deal while he's been languishing in bed. Now he has to rush to save his brother and to save himself. AU. Some Romance. Some Cussing.
1. Author Notes

A little bit about this story.

/*\

There will be swearing.

There will not be porn.

There may be romance.

There won't be mushy love times.

There will be bad action.

There might be some stretching of truth.

The narrator may be unreliable.

The characters may seem completely out of place.

And it is, most definitely, an AU.

/*\

What if Michael was the one to drag Dean out of Hell?

/*\

OH! And this may be a Destiel fic. I don't know why but I just keep turning everything into Destiel. It's a real sickness.


	2. Dedication

/*\

/*\

This one is for Ash.  
The silly kid who got me back into fanfiction.  
Gosh darn it Ash!

/*\

/*\

_I am lost_

_in the darkness_

_between two worlds_

_and here I'm struggling._

_You're the light_

_that I've been seeking_

_'Cause my whole life_

_there's been something missing._

_Only you_

_can make me whole._

_Just one touch,_

_you complete me._

_Rescue me_

_from this black hole._

_It sucked me in_

_and left me dying._

_You're the truth_

_that I've been seeking._

_'Cause my whole life_

_I've been lying._

You Complete Me, Smashing Pumpkins


	3. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_Why did you do it?_

Why do anything?

_You gave up everything._

There wasn't much to give up.

_What about Sam?_

He's fine.

_Life?_

Pointless.

_Family._

Gone.

_Not Sam._

He's better off.

_Is he?_

Dean considered the question. Was he? To his left Sam sat in the same chair he sat in every day. A book lay open in his lap but he had long since stopped reading from it. A pair of thin framed glasses rested on the end of his nose, precariously close to falling off. Some time ago he had fallen asleep. Dean didn't try to wake him, he already knew there was no point.

This was how they spent most of their time together these days. Often Sam would forgo reading and just talk to him instead but honestly Dean didn't care either way. He was just glad to see Sam, to be with him.

Was Sam's face thinner? His skin paler? Dean tried to remember what his brother had looked like a few weeks ago, a year ago, but as usual his memory seemed to be a black hole through which he could see nothing. This moment alone remained clear. In this moment Sam seemed thin, pale and painfully young. Why was he here? Why wasn't he out doing something. Studying for his law degree? Chasing pretty girls? Living the life he'd always wanted?

_Go home, Sam._ Dean tried to say.

Sam stirred. His eyelashes fluttered before his eyes slowly opened. He sighed, slumping into the seat before he closed the book and set it on the stand beside Dean's head, "It's getting late," he said softly, "I should go."

_Yes. Go home. Go do something. Something other than sit here._

Dean wanted Sam to stay but he also wanted him to leave. He couldn't ask Sam to stay just for his own selfish reasons. He couldn't force Sam to waste away here. It hurt to have to send Sam away but he had spent his entire life making sacrifices for Sam, this shouldn't be any different. He couldn't stop being who he was now, especially now.

Sam rubbed his fingers against his eyes, pushing the glasses up as he did. They fell into place on the bridge of his nose when he dropped his fingers, "I'll see you next week, Dean."

_I'll be here._

Dean ached. _Don't leave._ Collided with; _Please go and _live_. Don't waste away here with me._

Sam stood and bent over the bed. He pressed his lips to Dean's forehead. Dean inwardly grimaced at the mushy, ridiculous gesture. What was he? A toddler being coddled by a parent? He wanted to scold Sam, to call him out for such ridiculous behavior but before he could Sam was at the door. Next time. He would complain about the mushy kissing later.

Alone now, in the silent, bereft room, Dean missed Sam. He regretted sending him away.

* * *

"I've been having these dreams," Jimmy's fingers tapped repeatedly against the leather bound cover of _Night and Day, Always Away_. These days Jimmy did more talking than reading. It hadn't always been like this though. Dean remembered fondly the days when Jimmy first started coming.

'Hi. Name's Jimmy. I'm here to read.' That first memory was vivid in Dean's head. While other memories faded and blended this one memory was sharp. After that initial greeting Jimmy hadn't said much. He read. He left. He read. He left. A never ending meeting and reading that blurred together. The stories he read didn't stay with Dean, but Jimmy did. He remembered Jimmy. Even when he couldn't remember his nurses, or his doctor, or anyone else who stumbled into this room, he did remember Jimmy.

Something changed a week or so back. Jimmy didn't always read. Sometimes he'd stare off into space, like Sam. Those days drove Dean insane. _Do something. Say something. READ something._ Still, silent company was better than no company so he had never tried to send Jimmy away. Today, Jimmy made no pretenses. He didn't even open the book. He intended to talk.

_You've gotta be kidding me._ It's not that Dean minded Jimmy talking but he didn't particularly want to hear about his dreams. What was this? Some kind of therapy session?

"I think... I might be going crazy."

_Tell me about it. No really. Go on..._ Sarcasm didn't translate so well if you only thought the words to yourself. Dean squirmed internally. How he wished he could vocalize, tell Jimmy just what a space case he was being.

"I hear this voice. Not just in the dreams but all the time. Jimmy. I need your help Jimmy. Let me in Jimmy."

Now Dean's attention focused. What? That sounded familiar. Familiar and not right. _What else does the voice say? _He wanted to know more than anything. He noticed other things now too. The darkness under Jimmy's eyes. The curious furrow between his eyebrows. The weariness apparent in his eyes. Dean had noticed these things in Sam too, and it made him uneasy.

Jimmy lowered his head, his shoulders slumped forward. "What am I going to do? What if I am going crazy?"

His head snapped up, his eyes locking on Dean's, "I've got a family you know? A wife. A daughter. They depend on me. God... I have God..." He trailed off, his head dropping, a deep sigh moving his shoulders.

_What about the dream?_ Dean wondered, _what was it about? _It was important. A dream. Voices. These things could only mean ONE thing and that thing wasn't good. Or possible. At least, it shouldn't have been possible.

Jimmy set the book aside, placing it on top of Sam's. His fingers lingered on the leather cover a moment, "What am I going to do?" he whispered, his voice dying at the end so Dean inferred the 'do' more than heard it.

The quiet clawed at Dean's consciousness. Inwardly he banged at the walls that separated him from his body. If only he could break through. If only he could say something. _Do_ something.

Jimmy dropped his head into his hands and quietly rocked forward and back. _Tell me about the dream! Tell me about the voice! Jimmy! This is serious! C'mon man! _Dean raged.

The door creaked open. A pretty nurse peered into the room, "Mr. Novak? I have your wife on the phone."

"My wife?" Jimmy lifted his head, his eyes widening, "why? What?"

"This way please."

The door closed quietly behind them.

In the time that followed Dean calmed down enough to think rationally again. Freaking out, no matter how silently, wasn't going to help the situation. He would just have to wait, he would have to bide his time. Jimmy would open eventually. He had no one else and as far as he knew, Dean would keep his secrets.

Dean waited but Jimmy didn't come back.

* * *

It was hard to keep track of time but Dean was sure more than a week passed before he saw Sam again. He knew, the moment he saw the dark bags under Sam's eyes and the greyish tinge to his skin that something was desperately wrong. And, as before with Jimmy, there wasn't a damned thing he could do but wait and listen.

Sam collapsed into the chair beside Dean's bed. The same chair he sat on every week. His hand rested against his cheek, it seemed as if that hand was the only thing from stopping his head from dropping to his chest. His weariness tore at Dean. It made Dean crazy.

_He couldn't DO anything._

Dean waited for an explanation, for anything really but Sam said nothing for a very long time. The moments passed, each feeling longer until Dean was sure an eternity had passed.

Finally he spoke.

"I need you, Dean," Sam said in a soft, broken voice, "how am I going to do this without you?"

_Do what?_ Dean struggled to speak. Nothing came. Nothing! Always nothing! He raged at himself, at this broken body, at this broken vessel. In that moment he wanted to die. Sam needed him and it killed him to know he couldn't do anything. If he had a heart, if he could have felt it, he knew it would be hurting now. Of course, if he had access to his heart right now he would have been out of the bed and fixing whatever it was that made Sam so broken.

Sam shook his head slowly from side to side, "It might be awhile before I come back," he stood and leaned over.

As before, as he'd done many, many times before, he pressed his lips to Dean's forehead, "I love you, brother," he whispered. Those words he would never dare to say aloud before.

_Why does this sound like goodbye, Sammy? _Fear, raw and terrible tore through him, making him disoriented. Before Sam kissed him and it made him angry, now it made him panic.

Sam pressed his hand over Dean's chest, "God, I miss you."

He left.

Dean stared after him. What else could he do? What else could he possibly do!

_I'm here Sammy. I'm here!_

GODDAMN SAMMY!

On the bed a pale, thin hand twitched.

Dean never noticed.

* * *

Saying yes had been a mistake. Oh he tried to pretend it wasn't but he had all the time in the world to consider his options now. Now he could do nothing but sit and think.

He shouldn't have said yes.

At the time he trusted Michael. He trusted Michael more than anyone else on the planet. More than Sammy.

That had been a mistake too.

* * *

_Why did you do it?_

Because it seemed right.

_You gave up everything._

To save everything.

_What about Sam?_

Sam needed him and he couldn't be there.

_Life?_

Was meaningless now.

_Family._

Suffering.

_Not Sam._

But that wasn't true. Sam was suffering worst of all.

_Is he?_

Yes. Dean could see it now. He could see just how much this situation was hurting Sam. But there wasn't anything he could do. Not anymore. He'd made his decision and now he had to deal with the consequences.


	4. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The door opened but no one came inside. Dean waited. After a long silence he heard noise. Down the hall, far beyond his field of vision, someone screamed. He tried to move, tried to make his so long unresponsive body move, but it resisted his efforts. All this time and when he heard the scream his first instinct was to go to it. To help, however he could.

He listened, helpless and frustrated, as the screams intensified and then abruptly cut away.

Silence again, this time a thick, heavy silence that made him anxious. He had no way of knowing what was happening but he knew it wasn't good. His instincts made him want to help but they also screamed; danger! Just like that damned robot in that stupid TV show Sam used to watch.

The door, open and waiting, revealed nothing.

/_Move./_ He begged his legs.

/_Move!/ _He pleaded with his arms.

/_MOVE!/ _He couldn't scream his frustration. How he hated this state. How he hated himself.

Movement. Just at the edges of the doorway. Other times he might have missed it but now, with his attention so keen on his surroundings, he saw. He waited. Movement again and then the edges of pale beige material. Jimmy, the intern who came to read to him once a week, stepped into view wearing a trenchoat? He hadn't worn anything like that before. His normal attire was cheap suits and under the trenchcoat he _was_ wearing his usual suit.

He looked different, in ways Dean didn't fully understand. Same face, same thin body, same pale skin but something about his bearing and eyes made Dean uneasy. Jimmy moved into the room. Dean struggled against the bonds of his own mental decay.

_What's going on, Jimmy? Why did I hear screaming? _Of course Jimmy didn't hear his frantic thoughts, nor did he answer them. Angry, tired, overwhelmed Dean could only silently rage at his own uselessness.

Jimmy walked steadily to his bedside. Even the way he moved was different. He pressed two cold fingers pressed to Dean's forehead. Ice cold fingers.

_I can feel that_. Dean realized with a start. How could he know they were cold otherwise?

The sensation spread from his forehead to his shoulders, down his arms and torso, to his legs and finally his toes. He sat up with a loud gasp, his hands patting at his chest, his body shuddering.

He was moving!

How could he be moving?

How could he be feeling?

"What?" his voice cracked and sounded weak, even to his own ears. Water. He needed water. After so long, with nothing but tubes to feed and hydrate him, his throat was dry. Confusion and the sudden return of his faculties made him dizzy.

"We don't have much time," Jimmy said, his voice deep, gravelly and not at all as it had been before, "they'll be here soon."

"They?" Dean croaked.

Jimmy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off the bed. Dean's legs weren't ready to be used, his brain didn't remember _how_ to use them. He collapsed to the floor in a heap with Jimmy standing over him.

In other circumstances, if his brain hadn't been so foggy, Dean might have made a sarcastic comment or protested. Now he had enough trouble not puking, he couldn't be bothered with sarcasm or protests. His dignity, bruised and bothered by how things were going down, gave up on life and curled up in a little ball in the back of his head to die. Not that he needed it.

Jimmy crouched and again pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead. Warmth and strength pulsed from his fingers into Dean's body. Dean sighed when Jimmy pulled his hand back, "How do you feel now?"

"Stronger." His throat no longer hurt, his muscles tingled, the dizziness retreated.

"Get up."

"You... how did you?" Dean pulled himself up, using the bed for leverage. He expected his legs to give out again but instead they supported him as they should have the first time. How they had before he ended up in this cursed bed.

Jimmy stood at the doorway. He moved so swiftly Dean's head spun a bit. How could any human move that fast? Or did they always move that fast and he'd been stuck in limbo so long he had forgotten? Even now, with his brain, his soul and his body back in order, his memories were dense and hard to grasp.

More important questions nagged at him like; how was he standing? How was he aware and speaking? How could he feel his body? Feel his heart pounding away in his chest? Feel the sweat on his brow? This wasn't supposed to be possible. Not anymore. Not since Michael ripped him apart from the inside out.

"Move," Jimmy moved into the hallway and disappeared from sight.

Dean cursed. So there would be no time for questions, no time for adjusting, no time to assess. He had moments to consider his options. Follow the strange volunteer or stay here and wait for a doctor. Go after Mr. Beige Trenchcoat, or figure out where the hell his clothes were.

That scream from earlier echoed in his head.

Right. Not so many options then.

He forced his legs to move, stepping away from the bed and for the first time in many years he walked.

The hallway seemed eerily quiet. What time was it? Dean looked but there were no clocks and no windows. He tried to remember if his room has been lit by sunlight or the overhead lights but now he couldn't remember. Figuring out light source had been the least of his concerns then. If this was the early hours or late hours of the day the quiet would make sense but after that scream shouldn't this place be bustling?

"I'm brain damaged," Dean blurted, "that's what they say. Coma patient. I don't know how long I've been in there but it's been awhile. They said I would never wake up."

His body wasn't his body anymore. He was so thin. His muscles had turned soft. He was strong enough to walk but if they ran into his usual prey he wouldn't stand a chance. So he'd been there awhile. A long while. He had expected to be there until his physical body decayed and even then he hadn't been sure what would happen.

Soul burn. That's what Michael called it. 'Your soul will never inhabit your body again. Once you do this, you will be stuck in limbo, perhaps forever. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you wish to say yes?' One of his rare, sharp memories. One of the few moments of his life that he could recall without effort.

"I shouldn't be up," Dean said.

Jimmy did not look back. If he heard Dean, he made no indication of it.

"What they don't know is that I've been there the whole time. Not brain dead. I was there. Watching. Listening. Do you have any id-"

"Quiet." Jimmy held up his hand.

Dean fell into a sullen silence.

At first he resented Jimmy trying to shut him up but then he heard the noise. Someone was walking somewhere down the labyrinth of halls. Somewhere they couldn't see. Dean leaned heavily against the wall.

His hunter instincts, dulled but still there, flared. Maybe, if this had happened a few hours ago, he might have called for a nurse. Maybe he would have blindly stumbled forward. Now he kept his silence and waited for Jimmy's next move. Much as he hated to admit it he had to rely on Jimmy's guidance. He had no clue what was going on, and until he knew he wouldn't know the best course of action.

The footsteps faded, growing softer and softer as the walker moved away from them.

Jimmy waved his hand and started forward once more. Dean followed. /_Are you kidding me?_/ He kept one hand on the wall to his right. His legs were holding him up but he didn't trust them.

Through the halls they went, stopping now and again at Jimmy's urging and continuing when he decided it was safe. Dean didn't bother with more questions. Not yet. There were many things he wanted to say but after that little 'incident', he didn't feel comfortable making noise. What _was_ lurking in these halls? Vampires? Werewolves? No. Dean sensed this was something else, something bigger.

Finally they reached an emergency exit door which Jimmy pushed open. Sunlight glared in at them, blinding Dean momentarily. When his vision cleared he got a good look at the parking lot. "Shit," he breathed, "what the hell is this?"

Ambulances, vehicles, bodies... the parking lot was in a complete state of chaos. Despite the mayhem that faced him, all was still and quiet. The back of the ambulance nearest to them was open. A stretcher sat half in and half out of the vehicle. A woman with pale hair and even paler lips rested on that stretcher. She was dead. Dean could tell just by looking.

He looked away uneasily.

"It won't take them long to notice your absence. Hurry." Jimmy continued on as if this wasn't a shocking sight. As if he was used to seeing dead bodies abandoned on stretchers.

"This isn't right," Dean followed, or at least his body did. His brain struggled to keep up with events, "this isn't. Paramedics don't just leave bodies half in and half out of ambulances. People don't park nose to nose in the middle of lanes." Not in hospital parking lots at least, "This parking lot... what the hell is going on!"

"Quiet!" Jimmy whirled, facing him directly and fixing him with such a dead stare that Dean snapped his teeth together.

Dean met Jimmy's gaze directly, "Right." _Quiet._ They were still being hunted. Or were hunting. Dean still wasn't clear on that.

Jimmy looked away, "the vehicle isn't far. Keep up."

_Whatever._ Dean did keep up. Jimmy darted through the parking lot with all the grace and caution of a hunting cat. Dean followed with a bit less care. Some of the vehicles weren't abandoned. In one a single child sat in the back seat. Dean thought she was just resting at first. He reached for the door handle. He wasn't sure what he meant to do, ask her where her parents were? Tell her to come along? But as they passed he realized he'd been wrong.

/_Shit./_ He thought as he took in her pale, motionless face. /_Shit, shit, shit./_

Behind them, amplified by the absolute silence in the parking lot, a soft rustle. Like wings. Dean looked back expecting to see a bird but he saw nothing but abandoned cars. He must have paused too long, Jimmy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward.

Before Dean looked away he noticed smoke steadily rising out of the side of the hospital. _/Shit!/_

"Novak! This way! Hurry up!" A voice shouted.

Dean struggled to see the source. Just outside the parking lot, idling in the street, rested a red van. The sliding back door swung open and a middle aged woman waved at them from inside, "hurry!"

Jimmy pushed Dean ahead, "Go."

Dean glanced back once more. Shadows moved past those windows he could see. Winged shadows.

Staying seemed unwise.

Going seemed equally unwise.

_/To hell with it. I've already died once./_ Dean climbed into the back of the van.

Hands pulled at the back of his jacket. Voices cried out to Jimmy, "Hurry! Novak! MOVE IT!"

Inside the van Dean could see only dark shadows. Shadowed faces that grabbed at him and pulled him even deeper into the van. Jimmy climbed in. The woman slammed the van door shut, "DRIVE!"

"They're here!"

The van shuddered. Something on the roof? Dean tried to see. The darkness, now that the door was closed, made it impossible to tell if he was even looking up. Not that he could see anything through the van's roof anyway.

Crunch.

The engine roared. Inertia pulled him back as the van shot forward. Light shone through the front window. As his eyes adjusted he realized it wasn't as dark as he'd first thought. In fact, there was enough light for him to see his surroundings. The woman sitting across from him, holding a rifle and staring up at the roof, was not a stranger.

"Ellen?"

"Dean." she spared him a glance, "god, it's good to see you."

"What the hell-"

"Long story kid. We g-"

Her voice was cut off by a loud shrieking crunch. The roof bent. "What the fuck is that?" Dean searched for a weapon.

He found a rifle beside him. That's when he spotted Will and Gordon. "You guys too?"

"Hey Dean. It's loaded." William held a pistol, he nodded at the rifle Dean had just grabbed. He aimed his pistol at the roof and fired off three quick shots.

The bullets tore through the roof. Above them whatever was attacking shrieked. Black liquid seeped through the new bullet holes in the van's roof. _/Ventilation./_ Dean thought as he lifted the rifle.

Jimmy stood, having to hunch his back to get to his feet. "Hold on," he ordered before he pressed his hands to the rooftop.

He began to glow.

Soft, blue light seemed to flow through his very pores. His eyes turned to white orbs. Dean aimed the rifle at Jimmy. Will grabbed his arm and shook his head, "He's not the enemy," he said quietly.

Dean reluctantly lowered the rifle.

The light burst, turning so brilliant for a moment that the world faded to white.

The engine roared.

Someone cursed.

The world faded back into view.

Jimmy lowered himself to the van floor beside Ellen, who looked at him with wide eyes. "That's a nifty trick," she said, "care to do that more often."

"I am not here to fight your battles for you." Jimmy answered in monotone.

Dean waited but it seemed the thing was gone. The roof didn't creak, crack or shriek again. He set the rifle down at his side. Through the front window he could see the world speeding past. They passed innumerable parked vehicles but he didn't see a single soul. Not walking, not driving, not peering curiously through a store window. The world was deserted.

At least he had an answer to one question. He knew now why Jimmy seemed so different.

"So you're an angel," Dean looked at Not-Jimmy pointedly, "and I'm awake. What the fuck Ellen?"

Will chuckled, "I figured you'd take this well."

"The world's gone to shit," Ellen said in her typical blunt fashion, "we're losing, Dean. Things are bad. Real bad."

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned, "Michael defeated th-"

"Michael did his best but he did a piss poor job. Lucifer is back, Dean. He's back and he's stronger than ever."

"Back?" Dean repeated dumbly. His eyes traveled to Not-Jimmy, whatever was IN Jimmy. "No," he shook his head slowly from side to side. They couldn't be back for him. His heart hammered hard in his chest, sweat immediately beaded on his forehead. Just thinking about _that_ made him ill. "No! I am not doing that again! I won't! I refuse!"

"It's not that," Ellen said quickly.

Not-Jimmy's eyebrow cocked upward.

"He's not here to ask you to ... Michael is gone." Ellen spoke so fast Dean had a hard time processing her words, or maybe he was just so overwhelmed with panic that he had forgotten English, "when Lucifer crawled out of the pit, his first target was Michael. I don't know how it happened or why, I wasn't there, but Michael is gone."

"He acquired his vessel," Not-Jimmy said, "and with the strength of his vessel he was able to defeat Michael."

"His vessel?" Dean repeated numbly, "what vessel?"

Ellen looked at Not-Jimmy. She shook her head ever so slightly. "I know you have a lot of questions, Dean, but now isn't the time. We need to get you to a safe house. We need to get you patched up and we need to work on getting you back into shape. I'm sorry we had to wake you, especially to this, but we can't fight this fight without your help Dean."

"Sam," Dean said, "where is Sam?"

Ellen flinched.

"We lost contact a few days back," Ellen said softly, "we don't know where he is."

"You lost... you..." Dean's hands clenched into tight fists, "where... where was he last?" Sam _had_ to be okay. He'd just seen him. He had to be okay.

"Dean. We have to get you to safety. Can I explain then? There's so much an-"

"Where was he last!" Dean snapped.

Ellen sighed, "On the trail of a possible weapon. Transdimensional... something or other. He said it could help."

"He's been looking for it for months," Will said, "but a few days ago we got a call. He said he'd found it. He said he was going to use it."

"We begged him not to," Ellen said, "we told him it was too unknown. Too risky. He wouldn't listen."

"Last we heard, he was turning it on..."

"That's when everything went to shit! Even more than it was. This hoarde of demons-" Ellen winced.

"That's when he showed up," Will interrupted Ellen, his eyes moving to Not-Jimmy, "claiming to be a messenger of God. Asking to speak to Dean Winchester."

"I won't do it again," Dean snapped, but his words lacked their earlier bite. Bottom line was, he would do it again. If it meant saving Sam. He'd give up anything to save Sam. This was his one true strength and his biggest weakness. Even though it was a mistake, even though it was hopeless, he'd do it to save Sam. God! What had Sam gotten himself into this time?

"I have been attempting to speak to you for many months," Not-Jimmy said and his voice, quiet and rough though it was, made everything else seem to slow down and fade away. When Not-Jimmy spoke, Dean couldn't help but focus on his every word. As if in those words hid something important. Something he needed and wanted. Something he didn't understand yet. "Unfortunately in your state you were unable to respond to my queries."

"My... state?"

"Complete and total mental failure. I was unable to heal you without the assistance of this body. If I had touched you in my true form, you would have melted."

"Pleasant mental image."

Not-Jimmy cocked his head to the side, "You enjoy the thought of your body melting?"

"Sarcasm," Dean said, "it's sarcasm angel face."

"Now that I have revived you," Not-Jimmy continued, "it is imperative we continue our mission."

"Our mission? No. Your mission. _My_ mission is to find Sam." Dean turned his gaze from Not-Jimmy with some difficulty, "Ellen. Where was Sam? Last you heard from him? I have to find him. I have to make sure he's okay."

"It won't be that easy, Dean. You don't understand. The world isn't what it was when you... when you gave yourself to Michael. You won't be able to just hop in a car and drive to where Sam is. That's not how it works anymore."

Dean shook his head, "No. You don't understand, Ellen. I don't care what the hell this world is now. All I care about is Sam. I will go to hell itself if I have to, and you know I would because I've done it before, but I will make sure Sam is safe."

"He is not safe." Not-Jimmy said.

"Shush!" Ellen growled, "goddamn it."

"You're hiding something," Dean realized, "tell me about Sam, Ellen."

Ellen lowered her eyes, "I don't think that's wise, Dean."

"Let's get you to the safe house first. Give you some time to rest and process-" Will placed his hand on Dean's back.

There unwillingness to share made him all the more anxious and angry. Dean pushed Will away, "TELL ME ABOUT SAM!" He didn't mean to yell quite so loud but panic made his control over his voice tenuous.

"He accepted Lucifer's invitation," Not-Jimmy said calmly, "he is now nothing more than a vessel."

The world faded out of focus.

"No."

/_No!/_

Sammy at his bedside. So pale. So burdened.

"NO!"

_ /"I need you, Dean, how am I going to do this without you?"/_

"NO!"

_/"I love you, brother."/_

"SAM!"

The screams tore out of him in a steady stream. Hands grabbed at his arms. Voices called. He heard nothing but that damned calm voice. He _knew_ he was out of control, he knew he had slipped over the edge of sanity but he couldn't stop himself.

Sam. A vessel. Sam what he was. Sam...

_/"He is now nothing more than a vessel."/_

He fought, as if the hands that held him were the hands that now held Sam.

As if fighting these people, here and now, would somehow free his brother.

"SAM!"


	5. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_A Year Earlier_

"Your soul will never inhabit your body again. Once you do this, you will be stuck in limbo, perhaps forever. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you wish to say yes?" The dark skin that Michael had borrowed to speak to Dean had taken on an alarming paler tone. Dean, absurdly, wondered about the soul displaced by Michael's presence.

Who had been the original owner of that meat suit? A doctor, maybe, judging by the long, delicate hands. Or a pianist? Had he been a family man? Did he have a wife and kids waiting for him? Did he warn them that he was about to give his body over to an angelic creature for the purpose of ascertaining a superior meat suit?

_Sam_.

Dean rubbed his hand against his leg, "seems to me I don't have much choice."

Michael's borrowed lips tilted in a small smile, "certainly you do. You can say no."

"If I say yes, you can heal Sammy? You can make him human again? You can stop these demons and just... you can cure him?" Sam. It was all for Sam. Sam, who at the moment was locked in Bobby's panic room. Sam, who longed for demon blood more than anything else. More than Dean. More than sanity.

_'Detox might kill him, Dean.' _Bobby had told him grimly a day ago. They stood at the damned metal door and looked through the small window to see Sam screaming and writhing on the table in the center of the room., _'And there isn't a damned thing we can do about it.'_

"I can," Michael spread his hands, "but only if you say yes. In you I can change everything."

_In me._ Dean shuddered at the thought. Michael would possess him but in ways that he couldn't fathom. Michael would bunt his soul out and when this was over his body would be so destroyed his soul would never be able to return to it. He would be left mindless, bodiless, burned out and between life and death.

What other choice did he have?

_Sam._

A year ago he might have been arrogant enough to presume they could handle this without angelic intervention. He might have scoffed at Michael's offer outright. Now... well, things were different now. He had forgotten what hope felt like.

"How long... do I have to decide?" Dean asked.

"Sam doesn't have much time left," Michael said, "the sooner you say yes, the better."

Dean reached up and placed his hand over his right arm, where a hand shaped scar still marred his skin. When you've been to hell and back you stop feeling afraid of the things this reality has to offer. What's a little pain when you could be suffering eternal torment? What's a little moral dilemma when you could be facing the choice of tormentor or tormented? Still, Dean was afraid now.

He was afraid of what this would mean.

A soul torn between life and death.

And what about when his mortal body died? What would happen then? Would he go straight to heaven? Straight back to hell?

Would he ever see Sam again?

He squeezed his arm tight and raised his chin so he could look the angel in the eye.

"Swear to me you'll take care of Sammy," he said roughly.

Michael nodded, "I promise that I will ensure Sam's safety."

Michael had never lied to him before. If he said he would keep Sam safe, Dean believed it.

"All right... then... yes."

* * *

_Present Day_

"You're just full of handy little tricks."

"We only have a few moments before it wears off."

"Just zap him again if it wears off."

A curious, overwhelming calm pulled Dean deeper and deeper into himself. In this place he could hear and see his surroundings but he felt so disconnected from them that he was sure they were a dream. He liked this place. Different from the limbo of before. Quieter. Calmer. He could easily stay here forever, just floating between awareness and blackness.

He could see Ellen, her expression as stoic as ever. He could see Not-Jimmy, his expression blank and unreadable. They were like two stone statues facing off. Only when she spoke her voice carried inflection while his was that damned boring monotone.

In the place where he drifted he was dimly aware of hands holding his arms.

Will probably, or Gordon.

Why had he been so upset before? Oh, right, Sam. He loved Sam. Sam was all he had left. The only one. It wasn't just that though. He'd been taking care of Sam so long that he didn't know how to not care. No, that wasn't it either. Sam was the only living soul whom Dean trusted.

There. That was it. That's why Sam mattered. That's why he clung to Sam. Not because Sam was little brother. Not because of habit. He clung to Sam because Sam was all he had, not just physically but emotionally. Sam was the one person who knew him in and out.

If he lost Sam he would truly be alone.

Dean was terrified of being alone.

The calm began to wane. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness. He moaned.

"He's coming out of it," Ellen looked at him with concern, "do it again."

"Do you intend to keep him like this forever? He must face reality." Not-Jimmy said.

"At least until we get to the safe house. C'mon angel face." She used the nickname Dean had used earlier. Dean could see in her eyes a glimmer of amusement, and he heard the mockery in her tone.

Not-Jimmy sighed and leaned towards Dean. His hand cupped Dean's cheek. His eyes gazed at Dean steadily. The world faded away once more.

"Rest." Not-Jimmy said.

Yes. He should rest. Dean's eyes closed.

Sleep. Dean had forgotten what it felt like. When he awoke it was in stages. First he became aware of his tingling body parts. His elbow had fallen asleep, how that could happen he didn't know but there it was, numb and tingling when he shifted his position. Legs, weak and noodle like, twitched when he willed them to move. Next he remembered that he wasn't supposed to feel his body anymore so he sat up and patted himself down.

Chest. Arms. Legs. Little Dean-no, exceptionally large and hugely satisfying Dean. Everything was where it should be and he could most definitely feel it. All of it. He sighed, rubbing his hands into his eyes.

Cognitive function returned last and with it, memory.

_Sam._

Goddamn it!

He couldn't afford another panic attack, or whatever the hell that had been back in the van. Screaming and flailing wouldn't solve this particular problem. He knew that but in the heat of the moment he'd been unable to control himself. Now he managed to pull himself together. His limbs shook but he resisted the urge to fling them around in a proper temper tantrum. His throat ached but he stopped himself from screaming out his brother's name.

Since when did he have so little control over himself?

"Fuck it," he breathed to the empty room, "I've lost my mind."

He dropped his hands and let himself examine the room. Ordinary. With ordinary shelves, ordinary wallpaper, an ordinary light fixture and an ordinary window but he loved this room more than anything he'd seen in his life. It wasn't white. It wasn't sterile. It wasn't a hospital room. As far as he was concerned he could happily die in this room.

_Sam._

Right. He had to focus. He swung his legs off the bed and, with great care, stood. His noodle legs supported him but he hated how they felt. He hated being this physically weak. That angel, the Not-Jimmy, had healed him but it'd done a piss-poor job. When he found it, he'd demand some muscle regeneration.

He reached the door and fumbled with the doorknob. The door swung inwards, revealing a narrow hall and a closed door directly across from where he stood. He eased into the hall, checking both ways to be sure he was alone before heading for the stairs at the far end. Four doors. Four rooms, or three bedrooms and a bathroom. He was on the second floor of what must have been a rather large house if all the rooms were as large as the ordinary one he'd woken up in.

At the top of the stairs he heard voices.

He paused and listened.

The voices were too soft for him to hear properly. Reluctantly he eased down the stairs. One at a time. Between each step he paused to see if he could hear. When he couldn't he continued down another and another until he stood on the bottom stair in what appeared to be the entrance. The voices were coming from what suspected was the living room which was situated across from the stairs. The entrance itself was large, with a high ceiling and a pile of fifteen or more boots haphazardly resting beside the door.

Through the arched opening that led to the probably-living room he could see a couch, a fireplace, two windows but no people. Still, he was sure the voices came from that direction. Now, at the bottom of the stairs, he could finally discern what was being said.

"-Garth. It's not good."

"What'd he say?"

"It's global. He's receiving transmissions from overseas. It's definitely global."

"Fuck."

"I knew it!"

"Total demon infestation, disguised as a zombie outbreak," Ellen's voice was the only one he recognized, "this is... unbelievable."

"Or insanely clever. It works. People are buying it. We're wiping each _other_ off the map and those damned demons are enjoying the show."

"How many of your people are left, angel face?"

"Immaterial," Not-Jimmy's level, unaffected voice. How Dean hated that voice. In a room full of panicked people he remained impervious.

"No, it's material. It's very fucking material!"

"Dex. Calm down. Deep breaths. Maybe it doesn't matter. It doesn't seem like the angels are putting up much of a fight anyway. Seems like we're the only ones who can stop this thing."

"Dean?" This voice came from directly beside him.

Dean started and turned towards it. "Jo?" she looked older, and prettier. It took him a few seconds to process who she was, "Jo."

Jo's lips tilted in a wide smile, "Dean!" she rushed forward and slammed into him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his chest, her face pressed against his shoulder, "It's so good to see you."

The voices in the living room dwindled into silence. Ellen stepped into the arched doorway, "Dean? You're awake."

Dean awkwardly patted his hand against Jo's back. "Ho, Ellen," he murmured, "I'm up."

* * *

Hunters of various sizes, shapes and ages filled the living room which turned out to be far larger than Dean would have guessed. They looked at Dean with varying levels of curiosity, concern and awe. It made Dean extremely uneasy. Ellen made almost everyone leave but not before she introduced them, one by one. He forgot their names immediately. Finally it was just Gordon, William, Jo, Not-Jimmy, Ellen and Dean left in the room. Dean stood near the window, his arms crossed over his chest, his butt resting on the sill so he didn't have to properly hold up his own weight. He would never admit it out loud but just walking down the stairs had tired him out a bit.

Jo stood beside her father, her eyes moving from Dean to Ellen repeatedly. The tension was so thick Dean felt somewhat suffocated by it. They expected him to freak out again, maybe, or maybe they just didn't know _what_ to expect.

He eyed the weapons laid out on the coffee table, on the end tables near one of the couches and on the floor beside the fireplace. "This is it, then?" he asked, "your safe house?"

Ellen nodded, "belongs to a hunter named Dex Hallidan. He kindly offered it up when the war started. It's large enough to accommodate those of us who survived the first attack."

"First attack?"

"The demons came in waves. The first attack was the worst. Thousands of them in thousands of _us._ Hunters knew, for the most part, what was going down but the average folk, they just didn't. They panicked. Started killing indiscriminately. We tried to talk them down, tried to calm them down but they weren't willing to listen." Ellen's lips drew into a thin line, she ducked her head.

William laid his hand on her shoulder, "soon people were just killing anyone who seemed even a little bit strange. Hunters gathered together. We buckled down and waited it out. When the first attack ended, half the population had been culled."

"And that was just the start," Ellen said grimly, her voice cracking with some emotion, pain, fear, anger, Dean wasn't sure what.

Dean's shoulders stiffened. He looked out the window at a yard that seemed perfectly peaceful and normal. A swingset near the garden. A gravel lane which led to what looked like an old highway. Vehicles, lots of vehicles, parked neatly one after the other in the driveway and to the side of the driveway. The van from the hospital was parked just in front of the house.

There were people out in the yard too. Regular looking people doing regular things.

He had trouble wrapping his head around what they were telling him. This didn't seem like the end times. Sure felt like it though.

"They're calling it a zombie outbreak." Jo said, "the norms that is. Guess they don't know how else to make sense of everything. We buckled down and huddled up but so did they and that means they're easier targets."

"Won't be long before everybody's dead but us," Ellen said, "won't be long at all."

As Dean rested his gaze on William, something nagged at him. Something distant and hard to grasp. One of the memories that had faded when his soul lingered outside his body. He tried to dig it up but it refused to obey.

"Sam..."

Ellen flinched. Jo looked down at her feet. William grimaced. Not-Jimmy just stood there looking like a freaking statue. Dean hated him. There wasn't any real reason to hate him, but in that moment he did.

"And you," Dean said since it was clear they didn't want to talk about Sam just yet, "what the hell do you want from me?"

Not-Jimmy's eyebrows rose a tiny bit, it wasn't quite an arched eyebrow but it was close, "I require your assistance."

"_My_ assistance?"

"You are the only one who can stop Lucifer."

"What?" Apparently he hadn't mentioned this to Ellen and the others. Ellen turned to him, her eyes wide, "what do you mean? Michael is dead, he can't act as vessel again."

"Michael is dead," Not-Jimmy agreed, "but Sam is not."

Air seemed to choke him. Dean's chest squeezed painfully tight with a wave of anxiety that nearly knocked him to his knees. He grabbed the window sill, afraid that he might fall over. When had he gotten this weak? He hated this. Hated all of this. But most especially he hated himself.

Weak.

He was weak.

"Spit it out," William said gruffly, "just tell us what you want with Dean?"

"We've patiently helped you every step of the way, even though you refused to reveal your true intentions. Well, here he is, we helped you get him. So tell us what you want with him." Ellen spoke through gritted teeth, each word more a growl than a proper word.

Not-Jimmy ignored them. His eyes were for Dean alone, his attention fixed, his focus clear. Dean was pretty sure he was about to pass out, puke or lapse into another fit of screaming and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

He really had lost his marbles.

"Can we... how... Sam is still alive?" He managed to choke out through a throat that seemed three sizes too thick.

"Just as you were," Not-Jimmy nodded, "just as you are."

"Where is he?"

"Even if Sam is still alive," Ellen interjected, "he's got the freaking king of demons inside of him. There's no way we can get anywhere near him."

"Not yet," Not-Jimmy agreed, "but once Dean has regained his strength, we could."

Dean pushed himself away from the window. He walked towards the trenchcoated man whose face was so familiar and yet so foreign to him, "zap me. Fix me. Use your powers to make me whole again."

Not-Jimmy shook his head, "Not possible. Physically I could repair you but you are still mentally and emotionally incapable of completing this mission. Until you have regained full control of your mental faculties, we cannot continue forward. You must become the hunter you once were. You must heal. Then, and only then, can we face Lucifer and Sam."

Dean grabbed Not-Jimmy by the front of his coat. He pulled hard, but his pull had little effect. He _was_ weak. Too weak, "Make me whole again," he growled.

Not-Jimmy shook his head again with infuriating calm, "No. Only you can do that."


	6. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

_"No. Only you can do that." _The words bothered him long after the group dispersed.

Jo looked at him with barely concealed concern. The look reminded him of Sam and being reminded of Sam amped up his agitation. Dean tried hard to hide it though. "You remember, right?" Jo said softly.

"Of course I remember! It's just a frakki-" Dean paused. In his hand he held a handgun. She had just asked him to strip it, clean it and reassemble. It was a test, to see just how much mental decay he'd suffered. He'd popped out the magazine with no trouble. Emptying the chamber had been automatic. Now, however, he wasn't exactly sure how to proceed.

Jo reached. Her hands gently pulled the handgun away. He didn't fight it. She patiently pulled the handgun apart, showing him each step with care. "Here, I'll show you how to clean it."

"Remind me how field stripping and weapon maintenance is going to help get Sam back."

"Well, _this_ probably won't help anything but ma thinks it might help jostle your memory."

"My memory is fine."

"Is it?" She looked at him.

Her gaze was steady and blank but he felt like she was seeing straight through him. All the anxiety, fog and rage that boiled inside of him; could she see it? He snatched the handgun pieces from her and with quick movements snapped the pieces back together until he had a working handgun in his grasp.

Apparently Ellen was right. "What else have I forgotten?" Dean murmured, "how to fight? How to defend? How to react?" He set the handgun on the table.

/_"No. Only you can do that."/_

That damned angel had looked at him like he was weak. Not just physically but in every way and it was right. Dean _was_ weak. He was weak and raw around the edges. He felt like himself and yet he knew he wasn't. He was scarred around the edges. Things he used to know and should still know, had somehow drifted away from him. Memories he used to cherish were gone. He felt their absence but had no idea why they were important. And his body, once strong, was now frail.

Dean rested his hands on the table top. His shoulders hunched forward. He tried hard to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Nice and slow. Don't panic. Don't freak out. God! Why couldn't he control his emotions! He felt like a petulant child but he couldn't stop it.

Jo placed her hand against his back, "I'm sorry Dean," she said quietly.

"So, what now?" Dean asked, "training? I have to train? Like some kind of ... kid? I have to relearn everything?"

"It seems like all you need is a little nudge," Jo gestured at the handgun, "you didn't remember at first but once I showed you... well, I've never seen a newb learn how to put the pieces back together after seeing it stripped just once."

"Come for a walk with me."

Jo nodded, "All right."

They stared at him. Dean leaned against the shed. He pretended he was just taking a moment to study the yard. Really he needed to catch his breath. Just the small walk from the house to the shed had worn him out. Jo stood beside him. If she noticed how heavily he was breathing or the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead she didn't make it obvious. He was grateful; his ego had taken enough of a beating in front of her already.

There were other hunters in the yard. People he'd been introduced to but whose names he couldn't remember. They stared at him rather fixedly. Dean rubbed his finger over his upper lip, "why are they dissecting me with their eyes?"

"You're Dean Winchester," Jo said softly, "a legend. A hero. Almost everyone here knows who you are. They've heard your story many times over."

"What?"

"Dean," Jo looked up at him with a small smile, "you gave your life to save humanity."

"I didn't."

"You did! You let Michael take you. And because of you he was able to seal Lucifer in the pit."

"He did a crack up job too, didn't he."

"Dean!" Jo touched his arm lightly, "Dean, you couldn't know it would turn out that way. But these people, these guys, they want to be as strong as you were. They look up to you. You laid it all on the line. You took a risk none of them would have the guts to take. Michael was the one who messed up, not you."

She didn't know and he wouldn't tell her that it wasn't for humanity that he risked his life. It was for Sam. He eyed the hunters who looked away when their eyes collided. Some of them were young, painfully young. Some were old, too old to be in this line of work. Only a few looked actually capable of holding their own.

"What are they doing?"

"Maintenance mostly but some of them are sentinels. They spend the day circling the grounds and making sure no trouble has popped up."

"You have a few on the roof tops?"

"Yeah. Of course. You can't see them though. They hide pretty well."

Dean eyed the roof of the house, what he could see from here, and she was right. He had no idea where a lookout would hide and wherever they were hiding they were doing it so well he couldn't spot them.

"It gets pretty cramped inside the house," Jo said, "so we spend as much time out here as we can."

"How many are there?"

"Here? Sixteen. Other safe houses have more, some have less."

"How many safe houses do you figure there are?"

"Can't say," Jo murmured, "before the phones went out we were in contact with quite a few but who knows if they're still operating. Radio only travels so far."

"Power?"

"This place has a generator of its own but outside of here? Yeah, most places still have power. It's only been a few months since things went really sour."

"That hospital..."

"One of the few left," Jo said, "Sam... he wanted to keep you there. That town... it's still functioning, mostly. They like to pretend the world is what it was before. Carry on like..." she trailed off for a moment, "Every time we go for supplies I just can't believe it. Seeing people going to their jobs, seeing people acting like the world hasn't gone to shit."

"So it's not a functioning hospital anymore?"

"No. It is. Mostly. In a town of sleep walkers."

Dean didn't understand but he wasn't sure he wanted to. A town of people pretending everything was normal, even when the world was collapsing in on them. The idea should have surprised him but it didn't.

The front door of the house opened and Not-Jimmy stepped onto the porch.

A memory tickled the edge of his focus.

/_"Mr. Novak, I have your wife on the phone."/_

"How long ago did the phones go out?" Dean asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Um. Three, four months ago?"

Three to four months? No. That couldn't be right. Jimmy visited, Sam came a week later and then... had he really lost that much time? "How long have I been... how long..." he couldn't form the words, much as he wanted. Just how long _had_ he been unconscious? How much time had he lost?

Jo looked at him curiously, "Are you okay?"

Dean shook his head. Of course he wasn't okay. How could he possibly be okay? Didn't she understand? Didn't she know? Of course she didn't. How could she? Nobody knew what he'd been through. Nobody could understand what he was still going through.

He rubbed his hands into his eyes, wishing he could somehow rub the cobwebs from his brain, shake loose the bits and pieces that weren't fitting together properly.

"If you wish to begin combat training, I am willing to assist."

Dean didn't look up at the voice. He didn't have to look to know Not-Jimmy was upon them but he looked because angel wore a face that felt familiar. "You?" Jo said with obvious surprise, "what do you know about combat?"

Dean couldn't stop the half hysterical laugh that shook him. "Probably more than you know." he dropped his hands and raised his head to face the angel directly, "what are you? Cherubim? Seraphim? Elemental?"

"Seraphim."

"Ah. Well, then. Who better to learn some combat moves from?" Dean knew his tone dripped with bitterness and anger but he couldn't help it. "What's your name? You have a name, don't you?"

"He won't say," Jo said.

At the same time Not-Jimmy said, "Castiel."

Jo started and looked at him with wide eyes. Her mouth slid open as if she would speak but in the end she said nothing. "Castiel," Dean repeated, "tell me, Castiel, are all angels liars?"

"We do not lie."

"Oh but you do, you most certainly do," Dean pushed himself away from the shed, "I don't need your help angel face."

It was Michael he was angry with but this angelic being was as close as he was going to get to Michael now. Michael being dead put a crimp in things. If the bastard had lived Dean would have hunted him down personally and... done what? What could he possibly do against the most powerful angel in the angelic host? Yell? Scream? Think mean thoughts in the hopes that it would hurt the things feelings?

Truth was, even if Michael still lived, even if by some miracle Dean had been woken up to face Michael directly, there wasn't a damned thing he could or would do. Probably he'd fall to his knees and beg Michael for help.

_Save, Sam._

_ Please save Sam._

God! He was such an idiot. Such a useless idiot. Jo started to follow him, "Don't!" He snapped without looking back, "leave me alone."

* * *

Behind the barn he found an old well. He pulled up a rickety lawn chair and sat by the edge, gazing down into the darkness and dropping rocks. The darkness reminded him of his brain. The soft echoing 'plop' of the rock hitting water made him think of his memories. People poked, memories rustled up and for a moment became lucid but then darted away again, leaving him in the darkness, in the confusion.

Only one thing really stayed. Only one thing meant anything.

_Sam._

"If I could do more, I would."

"Not very good at listening, are ya?" Dean murmured but he couldn't bring himself to feel anger. As much as he hated the angel he also recognized the face the angel wore. As much as the voice was different it was also familiar enough to be comfortable.

Castiel stood beside him. He looked awkward, out of place, as if that body wasn't his own and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. No surprise. That body _wasn't_ his own and maybe he'd never had a body before. Dean tilted his head to study the creature. There wasn't anything to see, really.

This was Jimmy's body with something else's spirit.

"You and I are sort of the same," Dean murmured, "you're stuck in a body that isn't your own. I'm stuck with a brain that doesn't feel like my own."

"Your body was damaged. Cognitive function may never be what it was previously."

"I hate how calmly you say that," Dean chucked another rock into the well. He waited for the soft 'plop' sounding its landing before he spoke again, "what does that mean? I won't ever have full control of my memories? I won't... be me?"

"You will never be as you were before. Your brain has suffered too much damage."

Dean looked up angrily but when he looked into Castiel's steady gaze he saw a glimmer of something there. Castiel spoke in monotone but in his eyes Dean saw ... compassion? Regret? Whatever it was, it was enough to calm his anger. Castiel couldn't fix him then. If the angel could, he would have already, and, by the look of things, the angel regretted his inability to do more.

"If I can help Sam stop Lucifer, what then?"

"If you wish, I can return you to your rest."

"Between life and death, stuck in limbo. No thanks."

"You would prefer to live as you are?"

"Yup. I'm pretty sure I'd prefer to live. Even like this." Dean pushed himself up, "now if you'll excuse me." Fake, forced politeness. God, it annoyed him to even _fake_ polite.

"Michael did what he had to do to stop Lucifer," Castiel said, "your anger is misplaced."

"Misplaced?" Dean clenched his hands into tight fists, "My memory may be foggy. It may come and go and slide all around the fucking place but you know what is clear? You know the things I DO have firmly stuck in this damaged brain?" he jabbed a finger against his temple. "Michael is a back stabbing piece of shit! That's what!"

The angel did not try to stop him again. Around the barn he stumbled into Jo, who looked at him with that typical wide eyed concern she'd been fixing on him all day. He pushed past her. He didn't need her concern or her sympathy or any other well-meaning emotion she cared to level his way. What he needed now was Sam.

* * *

William shifted uneasily, "So... Dean. Jo showed you around?"

Something about William tickled his brain; something just on the tip of the fog but not enough that he could grasp it. When William spoke Dean realized he'd been staring, for quite some time. He blinked and looked away, "Yeah," he said, "showed me around. Gave me some weapon handling tips."

"You really... don't remember?"

"I do and I don't," Dean shrugged, "I think I know what to do but the moment I need to prove it it's like I've never seen a gun before."

"The angel said it would take extensive training before you'd be ready to face Lucifer. He said we would have to retrain your brain, fill the gaps-" William broke off abruptly.

"Since I can't grasp my old memories, we have to make new ones, huh?" Dean guessed, "Whatever. I'll do what you want, as long as it means you'll lead me to Sam."

"Ah, Dex," William visibly relaxed when he spotted someone in the doorway. Being alone with Dean, apparently, wasn't something he was comfortable with.

Dean turned to study this 'Dex'. Dex Hallidan, he supposed, the owner of this little ranch/safe house. The man was in his forties. A thick brown beard hid his features. Sharp blue eyes gazed out from under thick bushy brows. He was built like a mountain man and dressed like one too. Dean nearly commented on the leather gear but decided it wouldn't be wise to insult his host.

Not yet, anyway.

Dex eyed Dean while nodding at William, "Will."

Dean pushed his chair back and stood. He held out his hand, "You're the owner of this place?"

Dex took Dean's hand and shook it in a firm handshake, "We met earlier but I figured that would just be a big blur to you. Must be disconcerting to have all of this thrust at you after being so long asleep."

"I wasn't asleep exactly but it is a bit to take in," Dean acknowledge. He shook his fingers slightly when the mountain man released them, "can't say I remember any of the faces I met earlier."

"I didn't expect you to. Don't think anyone expected you to. Sam talked about you often. He seemed to think if you'd been here, none of this would have gone down the way it did."

Dean winced. No. Things would have been worse if he'd been around. "Zombies," he said, "Ellen and the others, they said zombies."

"The general population has passed off the demon infestation as a zombie outbreak. Easier for 'em to believe in a sickness than something supernatural, I s'pose. The attacks come in waves. Every few weeks an infected group will rise up or pass by. The norms fight 'em off, kill 'em most of the time. If we run into 'em, we exorcise and gain ourselves new hunters or we send 'em on to town where they pretend this is all a bad dream. Most of the hunters here now were recruited that way."

"Jo said there were sixteen hunters here. How many of those are new?"

"All the ones you don't know by name," Dex smirked, "'cept me that is."

All of those hunters in the yard, the ones who seemed too young or too old, they were new? Dean slid back into his seat. While his brain reeled and tried to process this new information Ellen joined them. "Boys," she nodded at Dex, smiled at Dean and moved to sit beside William, "did I miss anything?"

"Just filling Dean in with some details. Hard to condense months of horror into a minute explanation." Dex kicked a chair over. He sat; they formed a semi-circle in the middle of the living room.

"Sam was here," it took him awhile to put the pieces together. To process what he'd heard. "before the outbreak."

Dex, William and Ellen shared a long look. They were hiding things from him. Keeping secrets. Dean wanted to trust them, he really did but he just couldn't. Especially now when he could clearly see they were hiding the truth.

"What are you hiding from me?" Dean demanded, "what else is there?"

"Sam wasn't doing so well without you," Ellen said softly, "a few months after... after Michael abandoned you, Sam came to our doorstep. He looked like hell. Asked us to help him."

"Help him what?" Dean asked but he already knew the answer. Sam was trying to find a way to bring him back, to heal him. Despite everything, despite all of Dean's warnings and Michael's prohibitions, Sam couldn't give up. Dean would have done the same so he wasn't too surprised.

"He wanted to bring you back." Ellen shifted in her seat, leaning forward and resting her arms against her knees, "We brought him here. Dex, well, he's a damned good hunter. Real good. The best we knew of. Sam had you transferred to the nearest hospital and we started looking."

"The transdimensional... thing... what was it?" They mentioned it in the van before, when they were skirting around his questions and stumbling not to tell him the truth about Sam.

"No idea. He wouldn't talk much about it. Got real secretive near the end. We knew something was wrong, real wrong, but we had problems of our own. Course, nothing as compared to what we have now."

"I don't understand," Dean rubbed his hands against his face, "I just... I can't..."

"Summary," Dex said, "Michael sends Lucifer into the pit, abandons you and returns to heaven. Lucifer gets out. Holy war between Lucifer and Michael here on earth. We were trying to do what we could to keep the general population out of it. Sam finds a weapon he thinks can either stop Lucifer, or bring you back. Weapon backfires and unleashes a demon hoard. Sam panics and goes to Lucifer to make a deal. Lucifer takes Sam as a vessel. Lucifer kills Michael. Mayhem. Chaos. Panic. Angel comes looking for you. We help angel acquire you. We come here. You ask questions."

Even in condensed form Dean's head swam. One thing stuck out. One thing bothered him more than the rest, "Sam... just... he just made a deal with Lucifer? He just became a vessel?"

Ellen winced, "A few months ago," she said softly.

He didn't want them to see him lose control again but he knew he was about to. He got to his feet and clumsily made his way to the door. They didn't try to stop him. Probably they sensed he needed space and time to freaking process the shit they were dumping on him.

The stairs seemed to go up forever. He took them one at a time, pausing after each step to take a deep breath before continuing up. In the second floor hall he spotted the angel standing outside his room.

The angel looked at him. He looked at the angel. Time seemed to slow and the world faded until Dean knew nothing but himself and the angel.

"Why didn't you stop him?" he whispered.

"We were at war," the angel answered, "by the time we realized his intentions, it was too late."

"Michael is really gone?" Absurdly Dean wanted the dick of an angel to be alive. He wanted to be able to call for him and offer himself up. Anything to save Sam. Even that. Again.

But Michael, even if he had been alive, wouldn't save Sam. He wouldn't do anything he promised. Because he was a liar. Why did Dean keep wishing he could rely on that lying bastard? He hated himself for this strange pull he had towards the angel. His arm tingled. He still bore the scar. The mark Michael had left on him. Maybe it went deeper than skin. Maybe this constant longing for Michael wasn't all on Dean.

The angel nodded, "His death devastated our side," he spoke softly, almost reverently, "we are losing this war now."

"And I'm the only one who can stop it?" Dean snorted, "same old story."

"No. Sam is the only one who can stop it. But you're the only one who can reach Sam."

Dean leaned into the wall. He was keenly aware of his legs now. Of the world. This shitty, terrible, upside down world. He slid to the floor and drew his knees to his chest. Down the hall the angel watched him with unnerving focus.

"We stop Lucifer... we stop the demons?"

"Not immediately but without a leader they will eventually disperse. Perhaps, with time, we can seal them away."

"Right, because you guys are just fantastic at sealing big bads away." Dean growled.

The angel tilted his head.

"My head..." Dean looked up at the freaking stoic angel, "you really can't fix it?"

"You will never gain full control over your memories," the angel confirmed, "there is no way for me to fix the damage that Michael did. You may never regain proper control of your emotions as well."

"Wonderful."

"This pleases you?"

"Sarcasm, angel face, remember? We talked about this last time."

The angel nodded, "sarcasm." he repeated softly. Apparently he had enough of the conversation. After this he moved toward the stairs.

"Don't leave." Dean said.

He didn't care to be alone right now. Not when he wanted to scream. Not when the world was whirling around him with funhouse music playing in the background. Not when he thought the fear and panic might consume him.

He wasn't sure why but while Ellen, Will and Jo felt intrusive and frustrating, the angel felt... familiar. Probably because the memories of Jimmy were fresher in his head then the memories of the others.

"For a little while," Dean whispered, "just for a little while... can you pretend you're him?"

The angel understood, "I cannot lie."

"Then just stand there and be quiet. Okay? You can do that?"

Silence was his answer.


	7. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"I thought I'd find you here."

Dean didn't look to the doorway. He recognized the voice. In his right arm he held a barbell which he repeatedly curled with slow, steady purpose. He knew after a certain amount of lifts that he ran the risk of damaging the muscle more than helping, but his progress up to this point had been so slow that he needed to do _something_.

"You're not coming down for dinner?"

He set the barbell down and rubbed his bicep. It ached, but only mildly. In just a few weeks he'd managed to quadruple his weight load but it still wasn't anywhere near his previous strength. He still felt like a muffin. He glanced up at her now.

"I ate."

Ellen nodded, "I figured. Any particular reason you're spending so much time alone?"

"Not alone," Dean nodded his head to the corner of the room.

Apparently Ellen hadn't noticed the angel before. When her eyes touched him now she stood a bit straighter. Castiel bowed his head in acknowledgment. Ellen frowned, "Don't see you anywhere without him these days."

Dean shrugged, "he's helping."

Castiel was helping more than Dean thought he might. The angels steady, familiar presence comforted him. He was a stranger but not as much as everyone else. At least according to his broken, confused brain. Intellectually Dean realized that he'd known Ellen longer, but he _felt_ like Castiel was more a friend. He knew it was an illusion. He knew that for the last year he'd seen two faces steadily. Sam. Jimmy. And because those two faces were the two that he'd seen most often that they were the two his scattered brain had latched onto, but even knowing this he couldn't make himself distrust or dislike the angels presence. Not completely anyway.

In a way he was even glad for Castiel.

"We're doing a supply run," Ellen said, "Will thinks you might be ready to come along. Dex too."

_/Might be./_

"To the town?"

"Of course."

"Yeah. I'm ready." His heart beat faster at the idea of leaving this place. He wanted to see just how bad things were. Here, on this ranch, they didn't seem all that bad. They had electricity. They had food and running water. They had all the usual conveniences. It was hard to believe, except when he tried to channel surf and saw nothing but static, that anything was wrong.

"They're leaving in the morning. Sure you don't want to join us for dinner?"

"I'm good."

"All right then. See you tomorrow Dean."

She left him alone. His hand slid up to the scar. He squeezed lightly. "Are you sure that's wise?" Castiel asked from his corner.

"Supply run?" Dean shrugged, "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Either way it'll be better than the stupid drills you've got me running here."

"Stupid?" Castiel murmured, "You haven't passed any of the drills I've prepared."

"Because they're stupid." Dean stood, "Look. Big day tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

As he left the room, Castiel followed.

"Does the scar hurt?"

"Hm?" Dean glanced back.

"Michael pulled you out of hell. He touched you with his true form, and it burned not only your flesh but your soul. Does it still hurt?"

Dean winced and dropped his hand, which, he realized belatedly, had still been over the scar. "No."

"Then why do you touch it?"

"It reminds me."

"Reminds you of?"

"It reminds me not to trust back-stabbing, lying, soul sucking bastard angels."

"We are none of those things."

"Funny, could have sworn Michael was."

This conversation was now the longest conversation they'd had since all those weeks back when they talked outside Dean's room. Since then they had fallen into a quiet camaraderie that suited Dean. Now however, the stupid angel seemed determined to drive him mad.

"Why do you say that?"

If anyone else had asked that question Dean would presume it was an aggressive demand for evidence, but from Castiel he knew it was a genuine query. Castiel really didn't understand but he wanted to.

Dean opened his mouth to explain before he realized he didn't actually remember. He knew he'd been betrayed. He understood that he mistrusted angels. The exact reasons behind these feelings... well, they were lost.

Despite this overwhelming sensation of betrayal, Dean still felt a damned pull to the angel that he didn't fully understand. He supposed Michael had marked him. Not just physically but he marked Dean's soul and Dean knew, even if he didn't like to think about it, that he would never truly be free of him. Even now, when Michael was dead, he felt like if he just called out, if he just prayed Michael would appear. As he had done in the past.

Dean shook his head sharply to push away any thoughts of Michael, "I don't remember a lot of things, angel face. Least of all the events leading up to and surrounding my time with Michael, but the things I _do_ recall paint a pretty clear picture. That damned angel was a liar. A liar and a betrayer. And if he, the supposed best of God's elite, could be that way? Why the hell couldn't you?"

He retreated into his room and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

As far as Dean could tell, the angel waited outside his room all night. It wasn't unusual. Dean had actually gotten used to this behavior. Having Castiel around was a bit like having his own pet puppy. A particularly large, daft and quiet puppy, but a puppy nonetheless.

When he didn't think about what Castiel was, when they weren't talking about Michael or Sam, well, Dean almost liked Castiel in those moments.

"You seriously don't have anything better to do than follow me around?" Dean asked as he stepped out of his room and adjusted the collar of his jacket.

"Your survival is imperative."

"And you think I'm going to accidentally choke to death in my sleep? Or fall off the bed and impale myself on a loose floorboard?"

Castiel stared at him but offered no response.

Dean patted the poor, confused angel on the shoulder as he headed for the stairs, "Must be tough living with that brain."

"Your meaning escapes me."

"Lots of things escape you. Demons. Lucifer. You know, all the important stuff." Dean took the stairs two at a time. At the bottom, in the entrance, Ellen, Will and Gordon were waiting. Jo stood in the living room doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, a stubborn, annoyed look on her face.

"The others are loaded up," Ellen said, "wanna eat before we head out?"

Dean nodded, "If I could."

"Dex is in the kitchen."

"He's not coming?"

"He doesn't come on supply runs. Not anymore."

Not anymore? Dean wanted to ask, he resisted the urge. Instead he headed into the kitchen where Dex was dishing out bowls of porridge to hunters as they came in through the patio door. Dean cut into the front of the line. Nobody complained, "Mornin'."

Dex nodded and filled a bowl so high the porridge was in danger of flopping right out. He thrust the over full bowl at Dean, "Mornin'."

Dean took the bowl with a grin, "Is my appetite usually this big?"

"Bigger."

Dean snorted and headed to the table. It was a rickety old thing, built for four. Max. Six people had managed to cram themselves around it. One stood as Dean approached and offered his chair. Dean thanked him gruffly and took the seat.

He didn't plan to take long. The supply party was ready to go. They only waited because of him. Why they hadn't woken him up sooner he didn't know. Maybe, despite thinking he was ready for this, they thought he needed the rest. Maybe they weren't as confident in his recovery as they pretended.

He shoved the food down quickly, hardly stopping to catch his breath between bites. He noticed the eyes of those in the line and around the table on him, but he ignored it.

He was used to being stared at in this place. Apparently a few weeks of seeing him around hadn't stemmed their curiosity or their awe. They were the reason he stuck mostly to himself after training with Castiel, Dex and Jo. Or as close to himself as he could get with Castiel puppying behind him.

* * *

Jo watched them from the front porch. Dean sat in the back of the van and stared out the window, through which he could see her frowning face. He wasn't sure if she could see him or not. It was hard to tell. When they turned a corner, and his view changed from the house to a dirt road, he leaned back in his seat and shifted his gaze to the stoic angel sitting across from him.

As always Castiel had refused to be any more than a few feet away.

Will and Gordon sat in the back with them. Ellen drove. Another vehicle, a truck, lumbered down the path behind them. Dean couldn't remember the names of the 'hunters' in that truck. If you could call them that. They were hardly experienced enough to be considered more than wannabes.

"So what's the deal?" Dean asked.

"We go into town. See what stores are open. Buy whatever we can, whatever they'll let us grab."

"You do this every few weeks?"

"We have been."

"Why not just take everything?"

"The town still functions, Dean. It's not complete anarchy. Maybe if it were we would load up everything we could but so long as they're pretending to still be a proper town, we'll operate by their rules. And that means buying what we need and leaving it at that."

"We need all these people for this?" Dean murmured. He didn't mean to say it out loud.

Will nodded, "You never know when the 'zombies' are going to roll into town." he said the word 'zombies' with a great deal of emphasis.

Zombies. Dean shook his head. Hard to accept that the general population could believe in zombies so easily, but they had to be convinced with hard evidence when it came to demons, werewolves, vampires and the like. This was just further proof that science had rendered man vulnerable.

Sam would have been one of those who rejected supernatural realities outright if he hadn't been raised in the Winchester family. He was too grounded for his own good. Always thinking. Always feeling. Always needing concrete proof of everything.

Dean, well, Dean didn't know what he would have been like without his father's tutelage. Would he have found the supernatural realm on his own? Would he have scoffed at it outright? Would he believe in zombies but scoff at demons?

He liked to think he had a natural talent for the unbelievable. Whether or not that was true was something he would never be able to explore because he did know this world, and he knew the world beneath the surface. Even with a scrambled brain he knew. It wasn't something he could turn off.

"Wait here. If you see anything or anyone who looks suspicious call us on this," Will shoved a walkie talkie into Dean's hand.

The van rolled to a stop. Will pulled the sliding door aside. "Wait a minute," Dean clutched the walkie talkie tight, "I'm not coming?"

"Not this time. It's better if you wait in the street. You'll have a better view."

So he'd come along just to play lookout? Dean climbed out of the van and stood in the street where Will indicated. The street was quiet save for a few pedestrians who watched them as discreetly as they could manage.

Castiel climbed out and stood beside him while the others headed into the supermarket. The door 'whooshed' shut behind them and Dean and Castiel stood alone. Not entirely alone. The driver side door of the truck behind them opened and a vaguely familiar man stepped out. Dean was sure they'd been introduced but as usual he couldn't recall the name.

"This is the fun part," the man said as he approached, "sitting and waiting."

"Oh yeah, loads of fun," Dean responded.

"Don't be too bummed. Sometimes we see action."

Dean wanted to see action. He wanted to discover how he'd respond to a real life or death situation. He shoved his hands into his pockets and eyed his surroundings.

Quiet.

A little too quiet.

"Is it always like this?"

"Yeah. People don't come out much, not unless they have to. Even though they like to pretend it's business as usual they know it's not. Deep down they know the world's gone to shit."

Dean could believe it. He glanced at the angel beside him. "What's up, angel face?"

Castiel did not look at him. His eyes were fixed, instead, down the street. Dean leaned forward to try and get a look at whatever Castiel was seeing. Nothing stood out as abnormal. More empty sidewalks. More buildings. Far in the distance he glimpsed what he thought was the hospital where he'd woken all those weeks before.

Smoke still rose into the sky.

"Nobody's going to put that fire out?"

"Fire?" Nameless asked.

Dean nodded and pointed, "The fire. At the hospital. It was burning when I left too."

Nameless leaned forward and squinted, "I don't see a fire."

"Right there. See? Smoke."

Nameless looked again. He shrugged, "I don't see it."

"God," Dean dropped his hand, "you, my man, need glasses."

"It's not smoke," Castiel said quietly.

Wings rustling. It was a distinct sound. One Dean recognized immediately. He looked up, hand grabbing for and pulling out the pistol he'd been given. Nameless tightened his grip on his rifle. "What?"

"Ssh." Dean hissed as he surveyed the sky above and then the roof of the supermarket.

Castiel turned slowly so he was facing the same direction as Dean. "What is it?" Dean whispered.

"Demon."

Nameless swore and raised the rifle to his shoulder, "Where?"

"Quiet. Listen!" Dean growled.

The wings rustled again. Dean fired in the direction of the sound. The thing, the creature, materialized as it fell out of the sky.

"Fuck!" Nameless cried.

"Incoming!" Dean snapped.

He heard more. So many wings rustling that he feared there were a dozen, if not more. He raised his pistol but he couldn't _see_ any of them. He could only hear them.

To his right Nameless swore again and then suddenly lurched forward. He swung around, pulling the trigger. The rifle boomed. A demon materialized and fell to the ground.

"They're invisible!" Nameless shouted.

"No shit!"

"What the hell is this?!"

"Lower elementals," Castiel said calmly, "they cannot do too much damage. However, if they are allowed to escape they will inform their more troublesome brothers of our location."

"Then we better make sure they don't escape!"

Rustle. Dean aimed and fired. It was blind shooting. Stupid shooting but he let his ears guide him.

Rustle.

Bang!

Rustle.

Bang!

Every other shot he hit _something_ and that was better than Nameless who was now indiscriminately firing and hitting nothing. "LISTEN!" Dean shouted. "Follow the sound!"

"WHAT SOUND!" Nameless cried.

"THEIR WINGS!"

Castiel stood at Dean's side. He watched the goings on with infuriating calm. Why wasn't he _doing_ something? Dean didn't have time to dwell or to get angry. He had to focus.

Rustle.

Bang!

Yet another of the little beasts materialized and dropped to the ground. Elemental, Castiel called them. They weren't like any demon Dean had seen before. They had a form of their own. They weren't black smoke. They were more like winged little gremlins... he distractedly took this all in as he continued firing.

When his clip was emptied he dumped the magazine and inserted a new one with the ease of years of practice. Thank god his body remembered what to do, even if his brain was scrambled.

The supermarket front doors opened. Will emerged first, his gun in hand, "What the hell?"

He saw the bodies of the 'things' on the ground and froze mid-step. Gordon barreled out after him and Will held up his hand to still the other's flight into the madness of the parking lot.

"How many left?" Dean snapped.

"Three." Castiel answered.

Dean grabbed Nameless by the arm, "Don't shoot. Listen! LISTEN!"

Nameless reluctantly lowered the rifle. His breath came in quick, short gasps. The kid was hyperventilating. Kid. Dean shook his head lightly to clear his thoughts. Nameless _was_ just a kid. Just a baby faced kid being introduced to a world he never knew existed.

The quiet that gripped the parking lot now was eerie. It set Dean's nerves on edge. He listened, waiting for the familiar rustle of wings beating.

Rustle.

Dean turned.

Bang!

A soft thud as the creature dropped into sight and hit the ground.

Rustle.

Dean jerked the pistol to his right.

Bang!

Thud.

Rustle.

This one from behind. Dean turned so fast his head spun. Thankfully he didn't need his eyes for this shot. Just his ears.

Bang!

The last fell to the ground. Dean lowered the pistol. He let himself breathe but forced that breath to be slow and long.

Nameless slid to his knees, "Holy shit. Holy shit."

Will and Gordon cautiously stepped out into the nearly empty parking lot. When they couldn't see anything they hurried towards Dean. "What happened?" Will called.

"Ask him," Dean jabbed his finger in Castiel's direction.

"ZOMBIES!" This voice from the entrance where one of the hunters that had gone in with Will and Gordon stood. He pointed past them.

Dean whirled around.

Down the street, passed vehicles that had either been abandoned or parked for the day, he saw a hazy row of people. Dozens, no, hundreds of people. They moved with a slow, shuffling pace that was at once familiar and unnatural. They _did_ look like the zombies from movies and cheap TV shows. Even from this distance Dean spotted bloodied faces and limping gaits that suggested injuries.

"GET THE VAN LOADED! NOW!" Will shouted.

Dean rushed to help. There was time. Not a lot, but some. That crowd moved slow. Real slow. And they were blocks away. They shoved bags and bags of supplies into the van. Nameless stood at the front of the van, watching the crowd, shouting out their location. "THREE BLOCKS DOWN!"

"TWO AND A HALF BLOCKS DOWN!"

"Leave the rest! We gotta go!" Will pushed Gordon towards the van.

Dean stopped before following them in. Now the crowd was so close he could see them more clearly.

Black orbs stared out from every face.

"Shit," he breathed.

Will grabbed him by the arm, "In!"

Rustling. From behind.

Dean turned.

Castiel grabbed at his other arm.

Talons dug into his chest. Talons he couldn't see but could feel as surely as the hands that held his arms. He cried out in pain as the talons tore at his flesh.

Castiel reached out his free hand. He turned white, glowing as bright as the sun, if not brighter. Dean had seen this party trick before. It didn't work the same way it had done last time.

Will flinched. His grip on Dean's arm loosened and then failed.

Dean felt himself being lifted into the air. He couldn't even fight. The pain in his chest was too great.

Castiel held his arm firm.

The talons pulled him higher.

The light was so bright now that Dean could only see white.

Someone screamed.

Was it him?

Had he just screamed like some little girl?

GOD!

He hated this life.

The pressure on his arm released.

The pain in his chest intensified.

And then...

Sweet.

Blissful.

Silence.


End file.
